


A Single Man?

by AliciasClarke (fyeahgila)



Category: Black Sails
Genre: A Single Man AU, Depression, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, at least I hope xD, but James doesn't die, but it gets lighter, past James x Thomas, this is starting very dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7866238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyeahgila/pseuds/AliciasClarke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James is an English Literature professor who lost the love of his life in a tragic accident. Now his life doesn't make sense anymore, it lost all of its meaning and where colours used to be, everything that's left is endless grey. The only salvation for him seems to be following his beloved into death. Then he encounters John who has demons of his own, yet he appears to beam with light and colours...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!  
> this is the first fanfic I'm writing for this fandom, I haven't been around for too long, actually I'm not even through with all the episodes yet...anyway, when watching XIII and finally figuring out Flint's background and his reasoning, somehow this sad and tragic story made me think of A Single Man (go watch the movie if you haven't aready, Colin Firth is absolutely incredible in it!) and I had to write an AU losely based on it. Also I want to excuse in advance for not really choosing a better title for the story but that's never quite been my strenght tbh xD  
> Well, I hope you like it even though it's starting really depressing...thanks for reading! Oh and I'm no native speaker so I hope you can excuse any mistakes I might have made :/

Everything was grey without him. All the billions of colours the world had to offer seemed to have drained and left with Thomas. Now, all that James was seeing anymore was an endless road of grey where so much beauty, so much life used to be. It felt like his heart stopped beating the moment Thomas’ did; only that he wasn’t gone himself, he was still around, a lifeless shell, a mere wrack of the man he used to be. 

For more than half a year he’d tried to go along with some of his daily duties, without even noticing what he did anymore, nothing really made sense, nothing really mattered. He’d taken a leave of absence from work because not even teaching and researching about English Literature - something he used to enjoy deeply - could cheer him up anymore. 

He spent a lot of time at the library though. Not in the university’s where there were too many people around, but in his own, private one that he’d brought together with Thomas over the three years they’d been living together. Every single book there held a specific memory and made him feel closer to the man he’d lost his heart to.

There was the volume of medieval poetry he’d given Thomas for his birthday the year they first met. The Greek epics they both adored so much and which they’d partly gathered at flea markets. There were the classics they made their students read in class and secretly loathed because it was always the same, but they had to teach them. Then the play by Shakespeare they’d went to together at the Globe Theatre for an evening out that Thomas had originally planned with Miranda when they still were dating; but since the latter had gotten ill, James had been talked into accompanying his friend and in hindsight they’d both describe this night as the one they first realized their feelings for each other. There was also the tale Thomas had read to him that evening they shared their first kiss. And the novel he read to James after they first made love to each other mere days later.

This room was the place he still felt closest to him and sometimes he got the impression that if he just closed his eyes he could pretend Thomas was sitting there with him, engrossed in his reading, only sometimes looking up, casting an adoring glance and a sweet smile at him.

But all these moments he’d once enjoyed and valued so much, everything that was worth living for seemed to have faded away now, as did the memory of Thomas. With every day he was gone it became more blurry. Sometimes James couldn’t even remember what he smelled like, what he felt like. Weren’t it for the pictures and videos that had become his most treasured possessions, probably he’d have forgotten by now the way Thomas used to look at him, all gentle and caring. 

Some days he just stayed in bed, starring at the screen of his mobile phone for hours, at a selfie he’d taken of the both of them on the morning that day he last saw Thomas alive. And he wished nothing more than to be able to turn back time, to be able to go back to this very moment where everything made so much sense and where his life still had a meaning.

He’d kept some of his old clothes as well, just to be able to breath in his scent - despite Miranda nudging him to get rid of them because she thought it would make it all tougher that way. But of course he didn’t listen to her, he was stubborn and grim. The former had always been one of his characteristic traits. The latter was what the world without his beloved had turned him into, a world that didn’t seem to have anything left to offer for him anymore. But still being a stubborn bastard, he was at last determined to reach the goals he set for himself. Only now, his final goal would be literally the last thing he ever wanted to achieve. 

He’d tried living without him for months, it all didn’t work out, not in the slightest. Nothing helped, there was not a single thing that could make him feel better or at least ease the pain. No alcohol, no drugs, no stupid therapy group or shrink. There was nothing that could make stop missing him, nothing to dull the ache of this loss that felt like someone had removed his beating heart without surgery, just ripped it out of his body. 

Miranda had lost him too, she had loved him dearly as well one day. When they first met, it was Miranda and Thomas who were in a relationship. James was a newly habilitated professor at the University of London and Thomas working at his department after he’d just received his PhD. With every day, he and Thomas got to know each other better, grew closer through their mutual love for literature. They shared a special bond from the very moment they met. 

Even after Miranda cheated on him with James, Thomas didn’t turn away from either of them. And when finally the two men dared to admit their true feelings for each other, it was Miranda who just carried on because she saw that not a single thing would be able to stand in the way of the force that seemed to pull them together only closer with each passing day. She said, she’d always known that this would happen eventually, that it was an inevitable development. That she loved both of them, but the way Thomas and James were connected was something entirely else, extraordinary. And she was completely right with it. 

There would never be another one like him. Thomas wasn’t just another lover, another relationship. He was the love of his life. Miranda knew all of this and even though she was hurting herself, for her it didn’t seem impossible to move on. She tried everything she could think of to make James move on as well, but it was too much. He felt smothered in the end, pushed her away although she was the only one left who truly cared about him. But it wasn’t enough and never would be. Not after Thomas.

James wanted to see him again, be with him again. And the only way he thought this would be possible was to die himself. Then they finally could be together again. Like they were supposed to. They should have grown old together, like they promised each other. Now Thomas wouldn’t turn a single day older anymore, while James was forced to bear it without him. But it was too much to stand. He couldn’t face life like this any longer, a life without him by his side. 

These thoughts had been on his mind for quite some days now, but he didn’t really know how to do it. He knew he wanted to do it, there was nothing holding him back. Not even Miranda. He hadn’t seen her in over a week, probably the last time he went off at her, throwing insults and accusations, had hurt her too much to seek him out for a while. Served him well. Of course Miranda would be heartbroken to lose him as well, but he doubted it could ever be as bad as what he was going through without Thomas. He didn’t care if it was a selfish act, a coward act even. He didn’t care for anything anymore. Now he just needed to figure out a way how to end his misery.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> thank you all so so much for reading, liking, commenting this story, it means a lot :)  
> And I'm sorry for only updating again now, but last week I was on a cruise to Scandinavia and couldn't write anything...but I really hope that I can write more soon! (and also a little longer) Probably the next chapter will be from John's PoV to get to know him a little better...let's see ;) enjoy reading!

He still hadn’t figured out a way how to do it yet. Drugs or pills didn’t sound like such a great idea to him; there was always a chance that it didn’t work out and he’d end up in a psychiatric hospital afterwards. Maybe he should get himself a gun instead. Or a rope. Or jump off some rooftop. He didn’t know yet. It wasn’t like he was pressured, though. But ending it sooner rather than later obviously would spare him this endless pain in his whole body and the emptiness of his life. 

What he did know, however, was that he should get his affairs in order first. Going to the bank and emptying his account and all these unpleasant things. Writing some letters. Obviously he didn’t need to do that, but he wanted to. He didn’t just want to leave his business unfinished, because that’s not who he was. Miranda would receive all of his savings, the house, the car, and the motorcycle. Even if she didn’t use any of it, there wasn’t really anyone else whom he wanted to leave all these things to, but her. 

He didn’t have any kids. They’d always been too much occupied by their jobs to actually consider having children, although he could have imagined raising kids with Thomas very well. He’d have made a fantastic father…

James’s own father had died when he was still a little boy and his mother was living at an old people’s home by now, not able to remember who he was, or even her own name. He had an older brother who was a homophobic asshole that hadn’t talked to him since the day he found out about him and Thomas. Obviously he also hadn’t reached out to James again after his beloved passed away, so there was no desire to leave any of his belongings to someone who didn’t accept him and didn’t care for him anymore at all. 

The estrangement from his brother felt like the largest betrayal of his entire life, seeing that it was him who always looked out for James when they were younger and basically helped raising him. So there was no one left from his family who’d actually miss him and he wouldn’t even put it past his brother not to show up at the funeral... 

But he didn’t want to think about this right now. There was always one problem at the time and at the moment it was going to the bank and putting his money from the account to a safe deposit box so Miranda could have an easier access to it once he was gone. 

It was a grey and somewhat cold Tuesday morning in late September as he took the underground into the city on the way to his bank. The dreadful weather perfectly matched his state of mind. It was easier for him to leave the house now than it was during bright sunshine, it almost seemed disgusting to him. 

All this bright sunlight and these many people on the streets with their fancy frappuccinos and expensive sunglasses looked faded to him. Distant, like clouded in dust, none of it seemed real anymore. It was all like an endless desolate dream that he couldn’t find a way to wake up from and that he’d gotten so incredibly tired of because apparently there wasn’t a chance to escape. None but one…

He’d just left the underground station, already close to his destination, when a voice pulled him from the depths of the darkness that had begun to cage his thoughts during the past months. 

“A wonderful good morning to you, sir! Well, technically it is a shitty morning, but anyway…” the person speaking disrupted himself and James lifted his gaze from the pavement to cast a look at him. 

Not because it was the polite thing to do when someone tried to talk to you, but because something in that man’s voice that James couldn’t pinpoint right away just made him want to examine its speaker. Maybe it was also his silly manner of trying to start a conversation that almost seemed a little entertaining. Well, almost. 

The man standing in front of him was still clearly moving his lips but James wasn’t able to comprehend a single word of what he was actually saying. He simply was too taken aback by the fact that he wasn’t yet greeted by another grey, meaningless and fading face but that this man who was most likely trying to sell him some useless stuff actually was cloaked in colours. It weren’t his piercing blue eyes, however, that were remarkable about him, neither was it his long curly black hair, or his lopsided smile. Whoever he was, this whole man was beaming, radiating an energy that almost was palpable. 

And this wasn’t something James was used to anymore. Usually everything was pale, people seemed like stones to him, cold and dull. Featureless. None of them ever managed to draw his attention. None of them mattered. Not this man, though. He was different and the fact that James couldn’t tell why, actually accomplished to irritate him. So much that in the end the other one seemed to be somewhat bemused as well. 

“Excuse me, sir? Did you actually listen to what I’ve been telling you?” the guy asked after a while, sounding a little amused and James just slightly shook his head to get rid of all the thoughts that had been settling there. 

“I’ve got no time now, sorry”, he quickly said and then he just walked on in order to not be confronted by this man’s brightness and energy anymore. 

He had things to tend to after all. And he didn’t possess the nerves to muse over the possibilities why for once in a long time the grey that his world had become was penetrated by colour. Most likely it was a coincidence anyway, it meant nothing and didn’t matter. Not merely enough to wrack his brains about it anyway. There wasn’t much left anymore that mattered now. But one of those things was going on about his business with the bank. So he could get one step closer to his final salvation. At least that’s what he hoped it would be. Compared to this, some random stranger on the street barely was worth sparing a second thought about. No matter how bright his shine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> I'm so sorry...there literally is no explanation and no excuse why it took me like half a year or so to finally update again. Just...life happened, I had a thesis to finish, a master's programme to start, new people to meet, a student's job and way more homework and stuff to study than I ever anticipated, so yeah...that's the explanation xD  
> but anyway, thank you so much to everyone who's read and commented or liked this story so far, it's great to know you guys apprecciate this and I hope that maybe some of you will want to continue reading it. Thank you!  
> hopefully now that I'm finally on term break I'll have some more time to write again, at least I got a lot of ideas for this story and would love to be able to share them with you :)

He woke up with a hangover once again, by now it was a well-known companion in the morning. Even though the light outside wasn’t particularly bright that day, it still made his eyes burn and his head throb a little more than it already did. 

So, he pressed his eyes shut and for a moment cursed his whole life. He swore to himself to never drink that much again, already knowing that he probably wouldn’t even be able to stick to it for a single day. On the other hand, he wondered how all the booze he drowned himself in hadn’t made him more used to being hung over by now. 

After some minutes, he managed to grip the bottle of water on his nightstand and gulped some of it down, before grabbing his mobile to check the time. 11:52 am. Well, it wasn’t that bad. He didn’t have to show up for work before 2 pm anyway, so everything was fine. Well, apart from his head being ready to explode, that was. 

On one or two not so lucky days where he’d overslept, his boss at the supermarket had threatened to fire him the next time, so he rather shouldn’t risk showing up late for work again. Obviously, he could think of nicer things than working at a supermarket, but he needed the money. As an aspiring artist, a painter to be precise, he couldn’t afford not to take that job. Rents in London were exorbitantly high and even with two flatmates he had difficulties paying for his stay some months. 

That’s why two or three times a week he also was standing around on the streets, being that annoying arse who tried selling subscriptions for all kind of magazines to passers-by. It was an even shittier job than the one at the supermarket, but it helped paying his bills. Sometimes he also tried selling some of his artwork, but only as long as the police didn’t show up to make him leave because he didn’t have a permission to sell stuff in the streets. 

Probably he actually should stop going to bars, partying at clubs and drinking so much, then he wouldn’t need all that extra money. But it was easier like that. No lying wide awake in bed at night. No physical or emotional pain anymore. No tempering about all the things that would bother him otherwise. When drunk, sleep would overcome him as soon as his head touched the pillow. Having an aching head the next day was the lesser bad, the more comfortable price to pay. 

Booze-up until the annoying thoughts were all drowned out. Add some pills maybe. Then occasionally shag some girl or guy in the backyard of a bar, or loo of a club. He never gave any of them his number. Never called any of them back. Never agreed on meeting any of them ever again. Everything was fast, easy, superficial. He never took anyone home anymore. It would feel too personal. It would require a kind of intimacy he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to provide again. 

He just stayed lying in bed for another half an hour until the throbbing in his head started to turn down a little. Only then did he dare to get up slowly and walk over to the kitchen on his crutches to get some aspirin. After gulping it down with more water, he made his way straight to the bathroom and into the shower. This always helped to get his head clear and let him feel at least halfway fit again. 

Now, getting dressed didn’t mean to just throw on a pair of jeans and some random t-shirt anymore. First and foremost he had to put his prosthetic leg on. It’s been about a year now since the accident that cost him his left lower leg. The doctors told him later that there was no chance and they had to amputate it beneath his knee to save his life. The first two or three months afterwards he’d been in a dark place, obviously. 

Losing a leg didn’t just leave physical scars, but especially psychical ones. His flatmates and friends, Max and Billy, had him institutionalized during that time because they worried about him too much. And rightfully so. He didn’t know if he’d still be there without them and sometimes this totally scared him. So, he avoided thinking about this as well by getting drunk. 

But the mental hospital helped, at least in some way. By now he was glad that he’d survived. Compared to losing his life, losing a leg didn’t seem too bad after all. He could clearly see this now. According to Max and Billy, he still was a little annoying shit, simultaneously too smart and too dumb for his own good. He also still was a charming, great looking bastard who could twist people around his finger almost as he pleased, just by offering them one of his dashing smiles and a wink of his ocean blue eyes. 

What his time at the mental hospital and all the therapy sessions with his doctors couldn’t help him get rid of, though, was the anxiety of not being good enough for anyone anymore. Surely no one would want to end up with a cripple, just half a man. Surely no one would find him that charming anymore as soon as they figured out he only had one leg.

That’s the main reason he was fucking himself through London’s nightclubs but never let anyone come too close. Never let anyone even assume there was something wrong with his left leg. And if he stumbled anyway, what rarely happened anymore, he could still put it on all the drinks he’s had. But by now he’d learned to walk so professionally on the prosthetic that no one in a dark bar or alleyway who already had a few drinks themselves would ever notice the difference. 

Of course, Billy and Max started worrying about him again as soon as they figured out he’d started drinking that much. And it was just understandable that they did, they weren’t only his flatmates, after all, they were some of his best friends. He couldn’t even be mad or annoyed at them for knowing and trying to interfere, because he knew they were right. He truly shouldn’t have so much alcohol almost every day. He wouldn’t go as far as considering that he had an alcohol problem, but then again, that’s what all people with an alcohol problem would say. However, he supposed that the fact he was even thinking about all of this maybe was a good sign and he could just stop. Eventually. 

Instead of spending any more thoughts on this, he rather busied himself with going over to the kitchen to cook some fresh coffee. This always helped him to feel way better afterwards. While the coffee was running through the machine, he leaned against the table and looked out of the window. The sky outside was grey and it had started raining. Silently he thanked whoever was responsible, and no one in particular, for the fact that he didn’t have to sell magazine subscriptions in the streets today.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I already got a new chapter ready for you. Maybe because I'm feeling bad for not updating in such a long time before, but also maybe because I am really inspired to write atm :D anyway, thank you so much to everyone who still wants to read this story, I'm glad you didn't abandon it!

Miranda had invited him over for dinner and to her surprise he’d accepted. In the last weeks and months she’d asked him out and motivated him to be social dozens of times, but he had always refused. Never could be bothered to engage in any of the suggestions she came up with. He didn’t have the energy to do so and he just didn’t see any sense in it. He wasn’t happy, why should he do things happy people did and act like he was one of them? 

So, what had changed now? Nothing. He still didn’t want to, didn’t feel motivated to go over to Miranda’s and have dinner with her. But he felt obligated to do so. He couldn’t just leave forever without at least trying to spend some more time with her. After all, he’d liked her very much once. And even after she found out about him and Thomas, she stayed their closest friend. He didn’t want to leave this planet, knowing her last memory of him would be of a depressed, broken and grumpy man who stayed hidden away in his flat all the time. 

And if he was being completely honest, he didn’t just want some more time with her for Miranda’s sake, but also for his own. He wanted a chance to say his goodbye. Even if she wouldn’t know that it was goodbye. For him it would do, though. At least that’s what he told himself on the way to buy some wine that he could bring along for dinner. 

oOoOo

John decided it was a lucky day after all, even though he arrived at the supermarket drenched with rain, but glad for the first time that he could change into his work uniform with the supermarket logo on his chest. Also, he didn’t have to work on the checkout - which was a bad idea on days he was still a little hung over – at least not for the first part of his shift. Instead, he was assigned to re-fill the shelves and aid customers finding stuff if they couldn’t do so on their own. What happened quite often actually, because they regularly changed where some products would be displayed. 

Personally, he found this just as annoying as most customers, because then he often was as confused as them about the whereabouts of some of the products. But apparently, it had to be like that in order to make the customers buy more, or whatever. He didn’t really care, all he knew was that it complicated his job unnecessarily. 

It was still early in his afternoon shift and he was just putting some bottles of cheap sparkling wine onto the shelves, as he realised that a few metres down the aisle a man had been standing and staring at the selection of wines for quite some time now. Maybe he couldn’t find what he was looking for and needed help? So, John put the bottles he was currently holding down and walked over there to offer his assistance. 

“May I help you with anything, sir?”, he asked in his best customer service voice and added an encouraging smile. 

“Sir?”, he repeated after a moment as the guy didn’t react to his question. This seemed to rip him out of his rigour and he lightly shook his head.

“I was just…”, the ginger man started to explain, but then stopped himself as his brow creased and he suddenly mustered John with a curious look. 

oOoOo

There were clearly too many types of wines to choose from. He’d never been great in making such decisions, because what if he chose the wrong kind and it tasted awful in the end? How should he know? He wasn’t fancying wine much, was more of a beer guy, although he agreed that a glass of wine truly could jazz up a dinner. But it seemed like a completely unnecessary task to him having to choose from this assortment. Who thought of the idea of having THAT many sorts of wine, anyway? Thomas would have known, he was sure. He always knew about these things. Maybe he should just take a bottle of the type Thomas had liked…

While thinking about all of that, he didn’t realise the supermarket employee stepping up to him and asking him something. Just as he spoke up again, James could be pulled out of the confusion of his own mind. 

“I just was…”, he began, not even sure what he was going to say, but then stopped short. 

It was him again. The supermarket employee was the same guy James had seen days before in the streets on his way to the bank. The one who’d tried talking to him about something and whom he couldn’t answer then because he was too stunned at that moment. James felt like he had a déjà-vu right now.

He was baffled once more, because again, this man seemed to extract so much colour, so much of something James couldn’t define with bare words. It wasn’t his smile, it clearly was fake. Maybe it was his eyes, maybe his whole persona, there was something about him that he just couldn’t pin-point but that made this guy different. 

How odd, James thought, that for months on end each face of every person he encountered appeared empty and faded. Even Miranda’s. But then he came across this man - who seemed like a human embodiment of a sparkle to him - twice in just a matter of days and he was differentiating so much from all the rest. James knew he was, though he didn’t know why and didn’t really care to think about it too much, but there was something about this man that made it really tough for him to focus. 

He must have stared at the guy for longer than was appropriate because he threw him a growingly weird look and James hurried to rip himself out of his stupor. 

“I uhm...there’s just a too huge assortment of those wines here…”, he offered by way of explanation and finally turned his gaze away and to the wines again. 

“Makes it hard to choose from, right?”, the supermarket employee returned, this time with the hint of an earnest smile and for a moment James felt like he’d finally seen a glimpse of the early spring sun again after a very long and dark winter. 

“It sure does”, he nodded, trying to conceal his confusion. What was it about the other one that kept throwing him off his course like this? 

“So, what’s the occasion?” 

“I’m sorry?”, James asked, because he didn’t understand the necessity of the question. 

“The wine...are you buying it for any special occasion?”, the other man wanted to know. 

“Just dinner with a friend”, he offered. 

“Well, I think, depending on what’s served, obviously, personally I’d either go for this one, or that over there”, the supermarket employee advised. 

oOoOo

Actually, John didn’t really have a clue about wines. He was used to drinking other kind of liquors. However, he’d picked up quite some knowledge about it just from showing people to the area where the wines were displayed, or also from overhearing customers talking about which type they should buy best. So, he was glad he could actually offer some kind of advice. 

While the customer seemed to reflect on his suggestions, John secretly mustered him. He wasn’t quite sure, but he had the feeling that he’d encountered this man before. Just didn’t know when and where, but that the other one had given him the same strange look then as he’d done just now. 

After a moment, John decided that it didn’t matter. He saw dozens and dozens of people every single day, the jobs he had required it after all. And some people were just a little odd, nothing to wrack one’s brains about. Though, odd probably was the wrong expression, since John rather had the presumption that the other one had stared at him as though he, too, had the feeling to have had encountered John before. Well, even if so, this was London, there were almost 9 million people living here. It wasn’t nearly as weird to encounter the same stranger repeatedly as it seemed, just not very likely. 

“I think I’m going with this one, then”, the man said and ripped him out of his thoughts. 

“Alright, hopefully I could be of service”, John replied, spotting his put-on smile once again. 

“Thank you”, the customer meant, nodding. 

“You’re welcome”, he returned, going back to putting bottles on the shelves, as the other one passed him on his way towards the check-out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you guys,  
> seems like I'm finally inspired to write again! So I'm happy to post the next chapter for you and I also already started to work on the 6th one :)  
> Also I wanted to "warn" you not to expect so many updates next week, because I'll be in London for a couple days :D   
> Enjoy reading!

“So, this lady gave me that envelope, someone must have lost it here”, Carrie, his co-worker told him as she was about to head home and he was taking over for her on the check-out for the last few hours of his shift. 

“And how does this concern me?”, John wanted to know, a little confused because he couldn’t see the whole picture yet.

“Well, it wasn’t enclosed…there’s a cheque inside and believe me, the person who lost it will want to have it back”, Carrie answered cryptically, holding the envelope out for him. 

“So, I’m supposed to hold on to it until they come back?”, he asked to clarify, staring from Carrie to the envelope and back. 

“Yeah, I guess that would be the reasonable thing to do? At least I’d love for someone to find and watch it for me, if I ever lost a cheque like that one”, she replied. 

“Alright then”, John took the envelope from his colleague. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, see you Thursday then!”, she said cheerfully. 

“Have a good evening, Carrie”, John replied and watched his co-worker walk away, wishing he could call it a day as well. Instead he had to stay for another 3 hours, dealing with the influx of all the people who wanted to buy groceries after work. 

So, when he finally got a single quiet minute where no-one was near his check-out, he pulled out the envelope and peeked inside. There was a cheque addressed to an M. Barlow by someone named J. McGraw about 270.000 pounds. 

John stared for a moment, then pushed the envelope back into his pocket and looked around, checking if someone had observed him. Obviously, he didn’t want to take it, he just thought it would be safer like that. Also, he hoped that whoever had lost it would come back to gather it soon because he didn’t want to be left to deal with it. Who the heck just lost a cheque about 270.000 pounds?!

oOoOo

Actually, he didn’t have the energy to do any of this. First, call Miranda, tell her that he wouldn’t be able to make it for dinner. Obviously, he wouldn’t tell her the exact reason why, let her assume it was because he changed his mind and was being depressed and stubborn once more, just didn’t want to leave his flat. Then get up and out again to go back to the supermarket hoping that he’d lost it there while pulling out his wallet and that some nice and good person had found it and maybe handed it to one of the employees to take care of it. There still were nice people in this world, right? There had to be. 

Usually he wouldn’t have cared that much. If it was anything else, it wouldn’t matter to him like that. He wouldn’t be spending time to even consider all of this, let alone do any of it. But this cheque, this money, was important. Not to him, not anymore. He just needed Miranda to have it, since he wouldn’t use it anymore. Maybe if it was for anyone else, he also wouldn’t care. But he absolutely wanted her to have it, no matter what she decided to do with it in the end. He just needed to know that it was with someone whom he trusted.

For another half an hour of torturing his mind, and beat himself up about actually being stupid enough to lose a cheque with that amount of money. But when he’d put the envelope inside the pocket of his coat days before, he didn’t anticipate to leave his flat again so soon. So, he didn’t bother to take it out of his pocket and put it away safely somewhere. After some more contemplating, he finally felt ready to pick up the phone and dial Miranda’s number. 

“Hi, James”, she said, when picking up, he could hear that tone in her voice, not judging, but displeased that he had re-considered things, once again. She clearly knew him too well. 

“Hey…look, I’m sorry. I just cannot do this tonight, okay? I went out and bought wine…I, I really wanted to come over, but I can’t now…”, he began his excuse. 

“It’s okay. I understand”, she assuaged him, but he could hear the worry in her voice. 

“No, it’s not okay”, he therefore said. “Let’s postpone this to tomorrow, shall we?”, he suggested then. 

“Do you think you’ll feel up to it tomorrow? Because I doubt it. James, you aren’t well, I know that. You know that. Why won’t you let me help you?”, Miranda said, almost pleadingly. 

“I’m not feeling comfortable to have this discussion with you on the phone”, he gave back, actually feeling worse now than he already did. He didn’t want to upset her. This wasn’t how he’d imagined this evening. 

“You never will have this discussion. James, I’m worried about you…”, Miranda said and he could hear her voice shaking. 

“Miranda, please…just. Just let’s have dinner tomorrow?”, he tried again in a weak attempt to calm her down.

“Promise?”, she returned with a sign. She didn’t believe him. 

“I do”, he meant and hoped it sounded earnest. 

He heard her swallow hard. They were silent for a while, then she spoke up again first. 

“I miss you. I miss my best friend…”, she almost whispered and he feared she was about to cry. 

James had to fight down a sigh and put his head into his hands. He definitely couldn’t handle this right now. He wasn’t sure he would be able to handle this, ever. And for the first time he wondered, if following after Thomas and leaving Miranda alone would be the most selfish thing he could ever do. But there was not the time to think about this right now. He had to go out and find this cheque first. 

“I’ll be there tomorrow”, he reassured her again, hoping this would be enough for now. 

“Okay. I’m looking forward to it”, she mumbled. 

“Me too”, and with that he hung up, finally letting out that sigh. 

For a moment, he considered just drinking the wine he’d bought earlier, just gulping it all down and hopefully passing out soon after and have some rest. Maybe he should add those sleeping pills, though. Maybe he could just do it right now. Then he didn’t have to deal with any of this anymore. 

But then he reminded himself that he had planned it all. How he’d go about it. And the plan involved meeting Miranda for a last time. And leaving her that cheque also. So, he needed to get this envelope back first, even if just lying down and never getting up again seemed the more appealing solution. 

oOoOo

The end of his shift was finally nearing and John was toying with the idea to just actually call it a night this time and go home straight to his bed instead of stumbling around in some pub. He couldn’t keep this up forever after all. Not if he cared even the tiniest bit about the life that he still had. He’d survived a motorcycle crash for god’s sake, why was he willing to throw his health away by drinking himself to death now? 

Well, actually he knew exactly why, but this stream of thoughts wasn’t something he was willing to let into his mind right now. So instead he focused on scanning the groceries again, that some middle-aged woman packed away in her bag. 

“Thank you and have a nice evening, ma’am”, he said as she’d paid. 

The end of the evening shift always was worst. Not that many customers where still there at almost 9pm and he was the only one at the check-out. There was just one other colleague still there, who was working in the storage and it easily got kind of boring sometimes. 

“Excuse me?” a voice that seemed a tad familiar to him disrupted him and he looked up into the face of the ginger haired man he’d advised with the wine earlier that day.

“Was there something wrong with the wine?”, he joked good-naturedly. 

“No, I…I guess it’s fine?”, the man returned, appearing a little confused. “I just…I know that sounds pretty insane, but…actually I lost an envelope with some…there was a cheque inside, you know? And I was hoping that…”

“Oh, so you’re…Mr. Barlow, or what was it?”, John asked, surprised and pulled the envelope out of his pocket. 

“I’m James McGraw…but, you’ve actually got it?”, the other replied, almost amazed and all but ripped the envelope out of John’s hand. 

“Oh thank god”, he mumbled, peeking inside to make sure the cheque was still there. 

“Well, considering the amount of money, I can understand why you’d be relieved”, John commented smugly. 

“Thank you for holding on to it for me, I mean it”, the redhead said, nodding at him. 

“So, don’t people who find stuff and return it usually get some kind of reward?”, John asked boldly, because, why the hell not? He was that cheeky after all. 

The tiniest hint of a smile played at the corners of the other man’s mouth. John thought that he’d always looked a little grumpy until then. 

“Well, I…I suppose?”, he shrugged, not quite sure. 

“Buy me a pint?”, John suggested with a lopsided grin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I'm feeling the need to apologise for chapter 5 because by now I think it pretty much sucks. It's been months since I've written fiction and I just need to get into it again...but I enjoyed writing chapter 6 very much, it finally got a little longer as well and I really hope you'll like it as well.   
> This will be the first and last update for this week, because I'll be in London for a couple of days. But I already started working on chapter 7, so I'm fairly optimistic that I'll be able to upload it early next week. Until then, I hope you like this one here :)

While James was waiting outside he wondered what he had gotten himself into. On the one hand, he couldn’t comprehend what was going on right now. He let Miranda think that he was too unwell to have dinner with her, while at the same time he was about to head out to a pub with some guy he barely knew because he had kept a cheque about 270.000 pounds that he had lost earlier safe for him. 

On the other hand, he asked himself why he wasn’t feeling more uncomfortable about that. Maybe, he decided, it was because he was at a point now, where he knew for sure he was willing to die and due to that his subconscious mind wanted him to enjoy himself as long as it lasted. Even if it was just having a beer at a pub with some random stranger who oddly enough happened to be the sole person around whom seemed to be able to still strike a chord with him. It was a weird explanation but it was the only one he could come up with for the moment. Of course, at one point or the other he’d feel guilty about this, that much he already knew. But he also felt that he owed this guy and he’d never been someone who didn’t stick to his word. 

“Oh, you actually waited”, a by now somewhat familiar voice came from behind and made James turn to see the cashier walking up to him under the neon lights of the supermarket logo. 

“You sound surprised”, James replied for lack of a better answer. 

“You know I was halfway joking earlier. You didn’t have to agree to this”, the man with the dark curly hair said, as they started walking in a random direction. 

“And you weren’t obligated to watch that envelope for me, yet you did”, James gave back, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. 

“I think every truthful person would have done so”, came the answer and he could hear the smile in the other’s voice. 

“Well, and every earnest person would be grateful for it”, he meant, wondering why talking to this guy felt so easy. He didn’t even have to make a big effort, it just felt kind of natural. Recently even talking to Miranda rather seemed like a duty that he had to do than something he actually wanted to do. 

“I’m John, by the way”, the dark-haired man said, offering a hand to him. 

“James”, he returned, taking his hand to shake it. Even after he’d let go again, he could still feel the warmth of the other’s firm grip.

“So, where are we headed to?”, he wanted to know then. 

“It’s just over there”, John nodded in the direction of a pub across the street. “I’m going there...", here he stopped himself, as if re-considering what to say. "I’ve been there a couple of times, it’s pretty nice", he eventually settled for as they were about to cross the street.

Inside, it was quite full. Apparently, this was a popular place. All stools at the bar were occupied, but they still found two free seats at a table after looking around for a bit. James ordered their drinks and while they were waiting for them to be served, John asked, clearly mocking, but not with the intention to harm: 

"So, does it occur often that you're just losing your cheques at supermarkets?" 

"Regularly", James gave back, dryly and as John chuckled a little, he could feel a tiny smirk pull at the corners of his mouth. He felt lighter than he had in ages and he didn’t even have a sip of alcohol yet. He still couldn’t put a hand on what exactly it was that differentiated John from other people, but maybe it was just his overall persona. At least the way he appeared to be, considering he didn’t actually know him. 

“It was a mistake”, he added then.

“That’s what they all say”, John claimed, an impish sparkle in his blue eyes. 

“So, this happens to you often then? People losing their cheques at your supermarket?”, James inquired, obviously not quite serious as well. Just lightly joking around like that hadn’t come to him as naturally as this for longer than he could remember and it surprised him a little that he was even still able to do so. 

“First of, it’s not my supermarket, but yeah, people lose or forget all kind of stuff there”, the other explained. “Someone actually forgot their kid once, would you believe that?”

“You’re kidding me, right? Their kid?” James returned flabbergasted, shaking his head a little in disbelief. Being the person losing a 270.000 pounds cheque, he shouldn’t be judging, but that was just a little too much. 

“No, it’s true, it was on the news even. Well, it wasn’t during my shift, but…”, he drifted off just as their drinks were brought over. 

“Have you done this job for a long time?”, James inquired as the waiter had walked away again. Keeping up a conversation seemed to come easily around John. He felt drawn in by whatever it was that made him appear so bright and diverse. 

“Nah, it’s just to make some money. I mean, nobody loves working at a supermarket, right?”

“That’s understandable”, he agreed, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Well, originally I studied arts. I’m a painter, but it’s difficult…”, John told and James just nodded in understanding. “What are you doing?”, he asked then. 

“I uhm…I’m a professor for English Literature at the University of London”, James offered, not really willing to talk about his job. 

Obviously, he didn’t want it to get out that he wasn’t working right now. Hadn’t been since a few months. He wasn’t eager for the conversation to go into that direction at all. This would just pull him down again, make all the pain that engulfed him so often come right back. 

“Really? That’s impressive. I had the imagination that only real old people were English Lit profs”, John mentioned, luckily deciding to mock him instead of inquiring anything more seriously. 

“That’s clearly a prejudice”, James jokingly tried to defend the honour of some of his colleagues. 

“Well, or you’re just the exception to the rule”, the other suggested, laughing. 

“I refuse to believe that”, he said in mocking. 

“To be honest, I hated literature at school. But by now I believe that this was only because of the teacher. He was horrible”, John told, taking a gulp of his drink. 

“It’s always the teachers, am I right?”, James wanted to know, not quite serious. But he remembered some of those unqualified ones from his own time at school quite vividly. 

“Obviously. Maybe I’d love hearing a lecture of yours, though? Who knows”, John mused. 

“Maybe”, was all James replied to this and had to fight back a sigh. 

Instead he took some more gulps of his pint. He missed it, actually. Missed his job, teaching, researching. Yet at the same time, he felt like he could never do any of this again. Not just because he wouldn’t, not because nothing mattered anymore and in some days, sooner or later, he’d be gone anyway. No, rather because literature was the thing that always bonded him closest to Thomas, their shared love for it. And by reading some of these books, discussing them, too many memories would come up that he couldn’t, wouldn’t be able to hold back and wasn’t willing for everyone to see them. 

“Are you okay?”, his companion ripped him out of his thoughts that were ever growing darker again. 

And how easy would it have been to shake his head, to just tell him everything. This perfect stranger who had turned out to be quite a nice and decent and funny, even an intriguing person. Just tell him, get it all off his chest for once and then never see him again after this evening. But obviously, he wouldn’t. It wasn’t like him to do so. More so, even if it was unlikely that he’d ever see John again, he didn’t want him to form a certain opinion about him. Neither did he need his pity or his worry. 

This man across the table was the only person who’d managed to make him feel somewhat okay and a little alive again since the day Thomas had died. James still didn’t have any explanation as to how or why, or why exactly him. But he didn’t want this to be ruined. He wanted, maybe needed, this to be a good evening, a nice memory, even if he wouldn’t be around for too long anymore to remember it. So, he didn’t say anything, but:

“Yeah, I just was thinking about maybe calling it a night. You know, before they throw us out of here”, he said, gesturing toward the clock at the wall to their left that read 11:10pm already. He hadn’t noticed how time had flown away and now it was already closing hour. It felt like they’d barely been here for half an hour, although it had been closer to one and a half. 

“Yeah, sure. I’ve got to work in the morning, anyway”, John agreed, as James waved the waiter over to pay. 

“At the supermarket?”, he asked then as they were on their way out. 

“No, I’ve got that other job, trying to sell magazines on the street”, John meant, zipping up his jacket. 

“Ah, right. I believe you wanted to talk me into getting one of those subscriptions the other day”, James remembered, wondering if John did, too. But probably not, considering the amount of people he would be chatting up each day. 

“I actually did? What a weird coincidence”, he replied, sounding a little taken by surprise. 

“Well, probably London actually isn’t as big as it seems”, James meant as they were stepping outside. 

It was early November and therefore quite chilly already. The shift in temperature was accompanied by a shift in mood also, because them just going their separate ways again was imminent. Before, they’d drunk beer, joked together and got to know each other a bit. Now it was obvious, that they’d just be strangers again from here on. 

Unless one of them would say something. Something along the lines of, hey, let’s maybe do this again some time? But James clearly wouldn’t. He didn’t know if he wanted to, but even if he did, he’d probably just never do it in the end. Why should he make the effort to befriend someone if he’d be gone soon anyway? 

“So, thanks again, I guess”, he said instead. “It was good to meet you, John”, he added, feeling that he truly meant it. He’d had a good time, at least better than he expected. 

“Likewise. Maybe I’ll see you again at the supermarket?”, John returned with a smirk. 

“Maybe…or you try to talk me into one of your subscriptions”, he joked, realising that this was something he was doing quite often in the presence of the other man. 

He didn’t know yet what to make of it, if it was worth spending another thought on that. But probably he’d dismiss it again soon anyway, or he’d be overcome by this everlasting sadness once more and just forget about it. 

“Well, have a safe trip home and a good evening, then”, James added, holding his hand out for John to shake it. 

“You too, James”, and with another grin and a nod, he turned to leave. 

James was already walking away towards the next tube station, when he heard John calling after him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this story, guys, I really apprecciate it :)

“James?”, he called after the redhead, watching as he stopped on his way and turned around. 

He didn’t know why he called him back. Usually, he never did with anyone. It wasn’t something he wanted to do anymore, not after the accident. He didn’t want to exchange numbers with people he’d only just met. Usually, he never wanted to see them again. Especially not if he did find them nice and interesting. And James definitely fit both of these criteria. He appeared a little dark and broody as well, but he seemed like he could be quite fun to be around. Maybe even more so if one got to know him better, or with a little more liquor down. 

By calling after him, he just acted on an instinct, though. It had been a nice evening. A good evening. He hadn’t even thought about having some harder drinks at all and for the first time in a long while he’d felt like he could just be himself without having to be screwed. Moreover, he had no intention to do anything else now but heading home into his bed. So, if spending time with James, just talking and joking around a little, kept him from feeling shitty about his life and from drowning in booze, even if just for an hour or two, he’d love very much to see him again. Assumed James himself wanted that as well. 

John was walking up to the man who’d stopped on his way to the underground station, considering what he should say. It wasn’t like him not to have any idea, after all he was quick-witted. Usually. 

“I was just thinking…”, he started as he was standing in front of him, fidgeting with his hand inside his pocket. “Would you like my number, maybe?”, he just put it out there, biting the inside of his cheek, waiting for the reply and asking himself why he was being so anxious about the answer. This wasn’t like him at all. 

"John, I...", James started, as if not quite sure what to say, either. 

"I mean, it's okay if you don't. I just thought...I had a good time tonight, you know? And…you're a great guy, you know, so maybe you'd like to give me a call if you ever feel like…doing this again?", John started rambling, shifting with his feet and he’d loved to punch himself in the face for behaving like that. 

"Alright", the other agreed, just like that, after a silent moment where John bit his lip and then let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. 

"I just don't have my mobile on me. That's not supposed to be an excuse...just me being inconsiderate. I’m sorry", he added, ducking his head as though being ashamed. Maybe he was. 

"That's okay, would you like to give me your number instead?”, he asked, more hopeful than he should be, pulling his mobile out of his jeans pocket. 

“That’s not supposed to be an excuse either, but I don’t really know it by heart”, James gave back, sounding a little uncomfortable, but it just made John laugh good-naturedly. 

“It’s alright. I don’t really know mine either. But I've got a pen somewhere here...", John rummaged in the pocket of his jacket. "Accidentally put it there at the end of my shift yesterday", he explained needlessly. "I don't have a piece of paper, though", he added. 

"I've got some tissues, here", James handed him one and John was thankful that he didn't have to act like a 14-year old and write the number down on the back of his hand or something like that. 

This would have been a little too cheesy for his taste. They were grown men after all and not some school boys. And he didn’t even know what this was, anyway. Sure, he’d love to have another night out like that, but if it didn’t happen, it wouldn’t be a tragedy either. Maybe he just needed a change, though. Maybe all those hook-ups weren’t the wisest idea after all and he should go for something different instead. Just being mates hanging out, drinking and having fun would do for him, he figured. 

Heck, he couldn’t even tell if he’d fancy James, he just knew that it had been fun spending some time with him, getting to know a bit about him. So, there was literally no reason for him to act all fuzzy like that. 

"Thanks", he said then, when handing the tissue back, his number printed on it, meaning to express that he was being glad for James to agree to this. It was a good perspective, maybe seeing him again soon. But if not, he wouldn’t be feeling bad either. Though probably it would do him well to make some new friend. 

"So, just...call me, maybe. If you ever feel like it, okay?" 

"Yeah, sure" came the answer and John just grinned at him. 

Before saying something stupid and corny like "I'm looking forward to it", he stuffed his hands back into his pockets, looking at his feet first and then back up at the other's blue eyes. 

"Goodnight, James." 

Goodnight, John."

 

Back at home, Max, her girlfriend Anne, and Billy were all sitting in the kitchen with a bottle of wine and apparently someone had just told something incredibly funny, because they were almost chocking from laughter when John stepped into the room. 

“Oi, look who’s here, Johnny”, Billy called as soon as he spotted him and punched him on the upper arm. 

“Oi, don’t call me that again, mate”, he gave back in mock annoyance and ruffled Billy’s hair because he knew that he hated it, then greeted the girls. 

“You’re back home right after closing hour?”, Max asked, not without the intention to hint on the fact that he barely ever made it home before an ungodly hour. 

“I’m tired”, he shrugged and hoped it was explanation enough and it even was the truth. 

“Don’t you wanna sit down and have a glass of wine with us, mate?”, Billy wanted to know, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Just because it’s you who asked”, he joked, sticking his tongue out to Max who rolled her eyes and muttered “boys” under her breath. 

“So, what’s new?”, he inquired as he sat down and poured himself some wine. 

“Anne’s got that photographer job she was being interviewed for”, Max announced, beaming at her girlfriend proudly. 

“That’s neat, congrats. Wasn’t it for that fashion line?”, John asked, because he knew she’d been looking into different offers. 

“Yeah, that one. I’m starting the day after tomorrow, actually”, Anne told with a happy grin.

“Oh, so if there will be a bunch of pretty women, you better keep an eye on your girl, Max”, Billy joked and he and John started laughing while the girls glared at them in feigned anger. 

“Not funny. What’s new with you?”, Max wanted to know in order to change the topic and save herself from more mockery by her flatmates. 

“Some guy lost a cheque about 270.000 pounds at the supermarket today”, he started telling and his friends just gaped at him in disbelief.

“Why would anybody walk around with a cheque that holds that amount of money?!”, Billy said flabbergasted. 

“Who even HAS that amount of money?”, Max wanted to know. 

“Was he drunk or something?”, Anne asked, eyebrows raised. 

“No, he…I guess it just happened?”, he gave back, shrugging because he hadn’t really been thinking about this yet. 

“Yeah, happens to me every other day”, Billy commented and made Max laugh. 

“Maybe he’s a thug”, Anne mused. “I mean who has that much money, honestly?”

To be honest, he hadn’t really wasted any thought on this yet. Why James would have so much money. Or why he was giving that cheque away to someone. For a short moment he started panicking, because what if he’d given his number to a fraud? 

“Well, posh people do”, Billy meant and just then John could rip himself out of this swirl of ridiculous thoughts, scolding himself that he clearly was watching too many movies. 

Certainly, there was a very logical reason why James had drawn this cheque which didn’t involve any criminal activities. But since he barely knew the guy, it wasn’t his place to ask and he surely shouldn’t be wrecking his mind about it. Maybe James wouldn’t even be calling back. They’d never meet again and he wouldn’t have to bother about his money any longer. 

“He bought me a beer for holding on to the cheque for him”, he explained for no particular reason, but maybe to persuade himself that his new acquaintance was a nice guy. 

“Well I guess that’s the least he could do”, Billy meant, shaking his head a little in disbelief. 

“He actually was quite fun to hang out with”, John mused, maybe to assure himself further of the fact that James wasn’t a fraud. He knew that Anne was just being absurd, or drunk. Maybe both. 

Just thinking of this possibility was frankly ridiculous, they were all being silly here. And maybe also being tired mixed with some alcohol wasn’t the best combination for his mind. He clearly couldn’t think straight anymore. 

“Please don’t tell me you were shagging him?”, Max asked and for a second he wondered what had made her ask him that. Probably just her being Max, though. She loved nothing more but gossip. After all she was – or tried to be – a fashion and lifestyle blogger, also trashing celebs was part of her job. 

“No, I wasn’t! What are you guys even thinking of me?”, he complained then with feigned hurt, throwing them all a dirty look and wondered how much wine exactly they’d already had before he arrived. 

“Could have been, though”, Billy mocked, winking at him. 

“It’s not like I’m doing this every night”, John tried talking himself out of it, although technically his friends weren’t even that far from the truth, although he wished they were because he wasn’t exactly proud of his recent escapades. 

“That’s not what you told us that night after you came home pissed and bloody puked into the shower”, Billy remembered him and John just sighed. 

“You people are darn annoying, you know that?”, he replied, putting his face in his hands as to underline his statement. 

“Oh, we just want the best for you”, Max cooed and Anne nodded affirmingly. 

“I think I’ve had enough of the best of you for tonight. I’m going to sleep now”, he meant, not even drinking the rest of his wine before getting up because his head was already feeling funny anyway.

Lying in bed ten minutes later, he sighed, pressing his palms onto his eyes. He was damn tired but his mind wouldn’t let him rest. Why couldn’t he just have stuck to his scheme of never giving somebody his number, and never asking anybody for theirs? It was so much easier that way. Now he’d probably wonder if James would ever ring him up. If he ever got to find out about this bloody cheque. If he even wanted to know. 

He also wondered why he wasn’t any more sceptical earlier. Why he didn’t think further. Who the hell even possessed so much money? Well, unless they were rich for some reason. Had a great paying job, maybe inherited something…there were more than enough reasons, he decided. And none of this was his business at all. He knew he just shouldn’t give a damn and yet he didn’t know why he did anyway. 

Maybe it was because it was him who kept the cheque. If his and Carrie’s shift would have been interchanged, he never would have known. None of this ever would have happened. Maybe this evening would have ended completely different, with him at a club once more, completely pissed. Never knowing of James and that damn cheque. Never having given away his number. 

It didn’t matter now. He couldn’t change any of these things anymore. Panicking for no good reason wouldn’t help. Thankfully, he hadn’t been stupid enough to tell his friends about the whole thing with his mobile number. Max wouldn’t let him live in peace anymore, even if it was nothing. 

And probably it all was just that, nothing. He just needed a good night’s sleep, some rest for his mind. That’s why he decided that he wouldn’t wreck his brains anymore about this. Instead he got up, hobbling over to the bathroom on his crutches to take a sleeping pill. He shouldn’t care about any of this, so he wouldn’t.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kinda feels more like a filler than anything else, but I still think that it's necessary in some way and we get some more insights into John's daily life as well ;)   
> Thank you so much for reading!

On the next morning, he woke up before his alarm went off, which was a rarity. What made it even better was that for once his head didn’t feel like it was about to explode. It seemed like not staying out all night and not having too much to drink had been a wise choice. Probably he should make a rule out of this exception, but he didn’t want to make any promises to himself that could be broken too easily. But maybe he could at least try to keep it up for as long as it lasted, because it was a pretty nice feeling. 

Looking at his mobile screen, he discovered that it was just shortly after 8 am, which gave him more than enough time to shower and get ready before work. It even allowed him to have a real breakfast for once, not just a cup of coffee that he usually drowned down way too fast and ended up burning his tongue on. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you were up already!”, Billy entered the kitchen, sounding surprised, as he was just about to spread butter on his toast. 

“Morning to you, too”, John replied, grinning. “Really that surprising?”

“Well, I haven’t seen you up this time of the day in what feels like months, or weeks at best. So yeah, it is”, his flatmate returned, putting the kettle on for some tea. 

“I wasn’t out all night, so I figured I could get up a little earlier than usual”, he joked, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Probably you should try this more often, you know. Max and I…see, I’m not good at expressing that kind of stuff, but we’re mates, right? We’re worried for you, man. Sure, do what you want, but I thought you should know…it’s not healthy, you know”, Billy meant, looking at him seriously. 

John didn’t dare rolling his eyes or replying anything ironic. He knew Billy meant it and he also knew he was right. This wasn’t a lifestyle he should be keeping up for any longer if he didn’t want to end up with liver problems or some other shit like that. After everything that happened to him, he clearly should value his life more than that. 

So, he just nodded, chewing down his toast. None of them said anything for a while and they were sitting together in companionable silence for a couple of minutes eating their breakfast. 

“I know, Max can be bloody annoying sometimes and I also wouldn’t want her to know every little thing about my life, but…what I’m trying to say here is, if you wanna talk about this, then I’m here for you, mate, alright?”, Billy offered after some moments. 

“Thanks, mate. I appreciate it”, John gave him a light pat on the back and his smile was honest. 

He didn’t think he could have survived the last year without him or Max, who’d been always there for him after the accident and had turned out to be more of a family than his own relatives whom he hadn’t really talked to in years. So, what he was doing now was actually quite disrespectful to the two of them. Sure, he wasn’t a kid and didn’t need a nanny anymore, he didn’t ask for any of it, but he should truly value all of their effort a little more than he currently did. 

“I’m meaning it”, Billy assured him again, taking a sip of his tea.

“I know”, John said. “Thank you. For everything, I mean. I also suck at expressing this, don’t I?”, he added with a pained smile. Billy just looked at him quietly for a moment, then pressed his shoulder lightly in reassurance. 

“Hey, you wanna watch West Ham play this weekend? A colleague asked me if I wanted his tickets, he can’t go”, his friend remembered then. 

“’Course, why not. Who’re they playing?”, John wanted to know. 

He hadn’t been to a game in ages, but surely it would be a welcome distraction from the weird routine of headaches, work, and booze that his life had turned into. 

“Man City”, Billy was grinning meaningfully. 

“Then hell yes! I cannot bloody stand that lot”, he laughed and then drowned the rest of his coffee. This time without burning his tongue. 

oOoOo

This day he didn’t have an excuse anymore not to have dinner with Miranda. But he didn’t feel like he needed one anyway. He promised her that he’d be there and that’s why he’d make it. Also, he wanted to see her, since he hadn’t in almost two weeks. Not since he’d basically thrown her out of his place for being around too much. For caring too much, for worrying too much. 

Probably, he’d be worrying about her too, if their roles were reversed. But as it was, she seemed to get along quite alright since Thomas had passed, what, of course, couldn’t be said about himself at all. 

But he still felt like he owed her an apology. That was the least he could give her. She still was his best friend after everything they had went through. There was no way he could just leave her like that for good. 

Once more he wondered, if it was a selfish thing he’d planned to do. Leaving Miranda behind just like that. Leaving her to deal not only with Thomas being gone, but also himself. Maybe, if he was just a little stronger, just a little braver, Miranda could be enough one day. 

Having her wouldn’t give him Thomas back, but she was about the closest thing that was left of him. He’d fancied her a lot once, maybe loved her even. But his heart had never belonged to her like it did to Thomas. And deep down he knew that it never would be enough. She wasn’t him and never would, could, be. But just leaving her back alone? 

It was selfish. It was coward. It was the only thing he was prepared to do. Everything else simply appeared too complicated. Required too much effort, too much will and strength. And he didn’t possess any of these things, not anymore. 

There wasn’t much left to do now. Though, having dinner with Miranda was at the top of the list. It was the only thing worth getting up for that day, or rather, he got up around noon, after lying awake in bed for hours, just staring at the ceiling. 

Sometime in the late afternoon, he remembered the cheque that was still in the pocket of his coat. So, he went to retrieve it and put it on his desk with the other important belongings that he’d be leaving behind. 

Rummaging through his pocket, he also found the tissue with the number printed on it that John had given him the other night. He still wondered a little about himself, why he had agreed to it. He simply could have said no, sorry. But he hadn’t. 

He hadn’t wanted John to feel bad just for asking. He was a nice enough guy and under different circumstances, maybe they could even be friends. But as it was, he didn’t really think that he’d ever call him back. What for? There wasn’t a reason to do so.

Sure, it hadn’t been a bad thing to hang out with him, but it had cost him a lot of energy that he didn’t possess. It was exhausting making polite conversation, even though it had been more agreeable than he would have imagined beforehand. 

Actually, it hadn’t been bad at all, it just wasn’t something that he was seeing himself doing again. Or maybe not ever. After all, he had a rope waiting for him, and some pills in addition. Even after all the planning, he still couldn’t decide what would be the easier way. He just hoped, that when the time came, he would know what he wanted to do then. A gun would have been easier, maybe. But getting his hands on one? Not so much. By now he just felt that the right time for it might be coming soon. 

It was weird, though. Technically, he could do it at any given moment now. There was basically nothing holding him back, but having one last dinner with Miranda. After that, there was nothing to hold on to anymore. In four days from now was Thomas’s birthday. He would have turned 35 years then. And James really didn’t know if he could bare being around for this anymore. It would be too much, too hurtful. His breath caught and his eyes burned simply by thinking of it. Probably he should do it that day if he didn’t manage to earlier…

But for now, he didn’t want to dive any deeper into this. He couldn’t allow himself to drift off into this darkness, the cold and isolation, right now. Miranda was expecting him at her place and he wouldn’t call it off a second time. After some more minutes of just standing around, starring into nothingness, he could finally get his legs to move again and went into the bathroom to get a shower. 

Two hours later, he’d made it over to Miranda’s part of the city and was standing in front of her flat, bottle of wine in his hand. All the way there, he’d been thinking about how this would be the last time he’d be seeing her. He wouldn’t come back here after this evening. And he hoped that she wouldn’t come around the next days to check on him. It would be easier that way, maybe. Hopefully. So, he took a last deep breath, trying to get these thoughts out of his head for the moment and rang the doorbell. 

oOoOo

It was a horrible day for trying to talk people into buying a magazine subscription. The weather was disgusting and while John was walking about under an umbrella, most people hurried by in order to get to their destination as fast as possible. Nobody would be disrupted or could be stopped and animated to have a chat. There were some nice people who threw him pitying looks for having to do this in such miserable weather, but not even they could be persuaded to stand around in the rain for any longer than they absolutely needed to. 

Of course, he tried anything to stop some of these passers-by, but after three hours not a single person had let themselves be coaxed into getting a subscription, so John decided to try it in a mall instead. Even if this wasn’t very well liked by the people running the mall, at least if he didn’t have a permission to sell his stuff there. But by now he knew the places he could and couldn’t go to quite well and it was worth at least a try. 

While he was making his way over to the shopping centre, he considered the possibility to just quit this annoying job and to get another one instead. It shouldn’t be too hard, there surely were enough poorly paying part-time jobs open right this moment. 

To be honest, he couldn’t say why he was actually still doing this, well, apart from the obvious reason that he needed the money, but there had to be some other things you could get paid for that didn’t involve standing around in the rain for hours. So, he made a mental note to start checking out job openings as soon as he made it home later that day. 

Maybe, just maybe, he could actually manage not to drink that much anymore. Billy had been completely right this morning. It wasn’t good for his health. And neither was it for his bank account. It wasn’t like he hadn’t contemplated all of it a hundred times before, he just didn’t really know how to stop it. 

How to stop feeling insecure without all the booze and loud music and getting involved with people whose names he didn’t want to know and whose faces he’d forget as soon as he was on the tube back home. 

Then again, he hadn’t drank much the night before, he hadn’t gone to a club after the pub, hadn’t tried to pull someone, hadn’t felt self-conscious about his leg for a single moment. If he had been able to manage it once, he could do it again. The only question was how. He still couldn’t explain why James was different, why he’d managed to strike him, up to the point where he’d actually given him his number. And it probably would stay a mystery to him for as long as he didn’t see him again. If this ever even happened.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Office fucked up yesterday so I had to re-install it, which took until 2am and all of that just so that I could use Word again to continue writing on this story. This one's the longest chapter so far, maybe also the saddest, Idk, at least I almost cried while writing it. This story has become very dear to me by now and I really hope that you're liking it as well. Thank you all so much for reading, and the kudos, they make me smile each time I get one :) 
> 
> Also Happy Easter to those of you guys who're celebrating it!

“You actually came here”, Miranda said by way of greeting, sounding a little surprised, as she opened the door for him to step inside. 

“I’ve told you I’d be here”, he returned matter-of-factly and handed her the wine. 

She put it down on a table and then turned to pull him into a tight hug. He embraced her back, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the light touch of the perfume she was wearing. Just then, he realised that he’d missed her presence. 

Standing close like this, feeling her warmth, he thought that maybe he could have loved her at another time, in another life. If he’d never met Thomas, then probably he could have loved her. But under the actual circumstances it felt impossible. Where his heart used to be, there was only hurt now. So much hurt he barely could breath sometimes. Soon it would all be over, though…

“Thanks for coming over”, Miranda meant, finally letting go of him again after some moments. “I know how hard this still is for you…”, she drifted off and moved over into the kitchen to get some glasses instead. 

“It’s alright. I wanted to see you”, he said, following her. “May I help you with anything?” 

“I’m fine. Though, you could take the glasses while I’m bringing the food”, she handed him the wine glasses and then went over to the oven to peek inside. 

“What is it?”, he wanted to know, lingering in the doorway to the living room. 

“Lasagne”, she said without looking up. 

“I love your lasagne”, he meant honestly. 

“I know”, she gave back, smiling then and walked over to the table behind him. 

“So, what are you up to recently?”, he asked as they were sitting down, trying the first bites of the deliciously smelling food. He just wanted to try and have a normal conversation with her as far as it was possible. 

“We’ve got this new research project, it’s quite exhausting to coordinate. It involves about two dozen countries all over the globe. The Indians are behaving annoying and always want to change little aspects that are more or less irrelevant. So, well it’s basically the same old boring work as usually”, she told, grinning, to let him know she didn’t actually mean it. He knew that she loved her job, she always had, even if there were tough times. 

“Sounds quite fun”, he commented, taking a sip of the wine. 

“More or less”, Miranda meant, spending another five minutes or so, outlining some details that sounded quite hilarious. 

“Did I mention that this is so good?”, James said, when finishing his portion. 

“Only each time I cooked it”, she smiled at him. “Would you like some more?”

“Just a little.” 

When she’d given him a refill, she kept looking at him silently for some moments, before sighing a little. 

“Are you feeling any better at all?”, she finally dared to ask carefully. He already knew what was about to come, but he didn’t want to fight her again, didn’t want this to become ugly once more.

“Would I be here if I wasn’t?”, he asked back, trying a grin that ended up looking strained, which gave him away too easily. Obviously, he was far from better. 

“Then, why are you?”

“I’ve missed you. I wanted to say sorry for being such an arse some weeks back. It wasn’t alright of me to treat you like that, because I know you’re only meaning well. But I just couldn’t…I cannot handle it…”, James excused his behaviour, glad he had the chance to apologise.

"I missed you, too", Miranda confirmed with another little sigh, putting her knife and fork down and just stared at her plate for a while. 

“I’ve lost him too, you know", she said then. "And I’m not even trying to imagine how it would feel like for you. But you know that I’ve loved him too, once. And he loved me…”, Miranda went on and James closed his eyes shut in apprehension for a minute. 

“Though, I’ve said it before and I’ll say so again; what the two of you shared, it was entirely something else. And I used to be so jealous of it sometimes. To love somebody and to be loved by somebody the way you and he did…it’s so rare, it’s a thing of incredibly beauty. And I knew I didn’t have a chance against it, so all I ever wanted for the two of you was to be happy and you truly were…”, here she drifted off, her voice stained with supressed tears. 

“Miranda...I’m so sorry”, James gave back, not really knowing what else to say. 

Then he took her hand and pressed it lightly. He wasn’t even completely sure what he was apologising for. Maybe for not acknowledging enough that she also was mourning for Thomas. Maybe for the heartache she must have felt, seeing them both so happy while she couldn’t really have either of them, while she had lost them both to each other. He felt tears stinging in his eyes and rapidly blinked to diffuse them. 

“How are you dealing with it?”, he thought of asking after some minutes of silence. “Is there any way of dealing with it?” 

At least he couldn’t imagine that there was one, he hadn't figured one out. In fact, he was so far from figuring it out that he was just about finally giving up. 

“He wouldn’t have wanted for us to be miserable. Especially not for you to be this miserable, James. He’d want you to move on somehow. To find happiness again in some way. I’m sure he would have wanted that”, Miranda returned what she’d said about a dozen times before. 

He’d never believed her, never wanted to. He didn’t see a sense in it, didn’t understand how to do so. Or if it even was possible to do so at all. How could he just go on, knowing that Thomas wasn't with him anymore and was never coming back? 

“What if I constantly feel like all the happiness has been whipped out from this world? Ever since he...there's just...nothing but darkness”, he sighed, pressing her hand once more, his voice breaking at the end. 

This was about the most honest he'd been so far about all of his feelings. But he figured he could let her know now. There was nothing left to fear, nothing left to lose. After this, when he'd leave here, there wouldn't be any coming back. 

“Probably you need to try to look a little harder”, she suggested, looking at him with wet eyes. 

“Does this work for you?”, James asked, not buying any of it. 

How could he? It just didn’t occur to him how it was possible to go on, there didn’t seem to be a way. Not without Thomas. It just didn't make any sense anymore. 

“It does. By now more often even. Being distracted helps a lot. Going out with friends, colleagues, this really helps. Meeting new people does as well. Making new friends, having new experiences, seeing new places”, Miranda explained, still holding his hand. 

“But I’m too afraid doing any of that. I’m afraid I’d end up forgetting about him in the meantime…”, he confessed and it was a thought he was dreading. 

How could he just focus on all these other things while he had to hold on to his memory? How could he even find the energy to do any of these things anymore? It felt more than just impossible. 

“Having lost him doesn’t mean you owe it to him spending every waking second thinking about him. You will never be able to forget him, James, never. He meant everything to you. Though, it doesn’t mean you constantly have to keep him in mind in order to not let his memory fade. You are allowed to make new memories, you know that?”, she meant and sounded awfully like some kind of therapist or something like that. He hated it. 

“I want to believe this, but it’s a too tough thing to do. I’m having trouble to understand it…”

“Tonight is a good start, though? You came here, you wanted to have some company!”, Miranda almost exclaimed.

She clearly was happy about the fact that she’d managed to make him leave his cocoon, even if only for tonight. She really was trying hard to make him feel better, he knew that. He loved her for it, but he just didn't feel any better. 

“Last night…I had a drink with a guy”, James admitted then, not quite sure why, or what he wanted to prove to her. 

Maybe that he could do it. Even though he didn’t believe in it. But it didn’t matter. He just had to make her believe it. That he’d eventually find a way to get better, even if he didn’t intend to. He just wanted to make her worry some less. 

“What?”, Miranda asked, letting go of his hand in real surprise. 

“I lost…some money. He gave it back to me, so…I bought him a pint in return”, he explained, shrugging. 

“Are you feeling bad about this now?”, she wanted to know, looking at him carefully. 

“I don’t know how I’m feeling anymore…”, he returned honestly. 

He hadn’t really spent a lot of thoughts on it. Did he feel bad about going to a pub with some guy he didn’t know? He couldn’t say. All he knew was that he was still a little surprised by himself about actually making it through that evening without being completely unnerved by everything and everyone and ending up ruining it in the end.

“Did you enjoy it? Being out and spending time with him?”, Miranda kept asking, why so he didn’t quite understand. 

James thought about this for a while. He couldn’t tell. It hadn’t been bad. It hadn’t been a catastrophe. He couldn’t say if it was great fun or not, this would require him to be more emotionally open and he clearly wasn’t. It had been nice, he guessed. John was quite nice. That’s all he could really tell, since he didn’t know him well enough. 

“It wasn’t that bad”, he finally settled on, shrugging once more because he was starting to feel a little uncomfortable about her questions. 

“Would you want to do this again, going out for drinks?”, his best friend inquired and he wondered why she kept asking him all of this. 

“With him?”, he returned, raising an eyebrow because he didn’t quite understand her questioning him like that. 

“With him…with me, with anyone”, now it was Miranda who shrugged. 

“He gave me his number”, James only meant by way of response. 

“Do you intend to call him?”

“Not really”, he replied. 

He’d thought about this a little before. Why should he waste time and energy on calling him, trying to befriend him? He didn’t feel like doing any of this anymore. It was too much effort, clearly. It required him to be sociable and this thought itself made him feel a little nauseous. 

“Why not?”, Miranda kept on asking and to be quite honest, he started to get a little annoyed by whatever she was doing here. 

“I don’t really feel like making new friends”, James just answered and hoped it would be enough for Miranda to finally leave him be. 

“It could help you, though”, she mused. “Did you like him?”

“I don’t know him well enough to draw such a conclusion”, he sighed. What was it with all these questions? 

“You accepted his number, though”, she reminded him. 

“It would have been kind of rude not to. He gave me my money back”, James explained, matter-of-factly. 

“It’s okay if you liked spending time with him, you know? If you enjoyed his company, maybe you should just give it a try and call him”, she considered and now he simply couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“What do you want from me, Miranda? What's with all these questions? Why does it even matter if I would want to go out with anybody?”, he tried really hard not to be too harsh on her, because she didn't deserve it.

“I was just thinking…it could do you well, James”, Miranda tried to calm him, lying a hand on his forearm and pressing it lightly. 

“It’s just…I constantly feel that…it’s not fair”, he started after he had taken some deep breaths. He didn’t want to scream at her again. At least he tried not to. So, probably they should just talk this out while trying to stay calm. 

“Thomas…he didn’t deserve this. He would have turned 35 this Sunday, you know? And how is it fair in any way that he had so little time? There was so much…so much we wanted to do. And now none of that has any value to me anymore. I don’t want to do any of these things anymore, not if it’s without him”, he finally admitted all these things he hadn't said aloud before, feeling a tear running down his cheek and Miranda took his hand in hers. 

“Nobody said it was fair, James. Sometimes life just isn’t fair. We cannot explain it, but some things just happen for no apparent reason. And all we can do is to accept them, even if it is tough to do so. Especially then, maybe. That’s what my therapist told me. I’m still thinking that you should see one as well. It could actually help you, James. At least it helped me to understand it all a little better”, Miranda explained. 

“I’m not seeing a shrink, I’ve told you so before”, he refused once more. 

He could discuss all of this with Miranda because she knew what he was going through, but telling this to some person he didn’t even know? He didn’t feel comfortable at all just thinking about this possibility. It just wasn't for him. 

“Sometimes I wish you weren’t that stubborn, maybe it would be easier then…”

“What would be easier then? To forget that he’s dead? To get over the fact that I’ll never see him again? That I’ll never…that we’ll never…”, here he finally broke down in tears and pulled his hand away from hers to bury his face in it, sobbing. 

“James…listen, I’m sorry”, Miranda put a hand gently on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to point out to you that Thomas surely wouldn’t be happy if he knew that you are in such a bad place. He would want you to find a way to carry on, even without him. He would have wanted that for you…”. 

Actually, he wanted nothing more but to scream at her how she dared to tell him what Thomas would have wanted, how she could possibly know what he would have wanted. But he’d been there about two weeks ago and it hadn’t been nice at all. It was about the meanest thing that he could have accused her of after everything that they’d gone through together. 

“I’m worried for you, actually. Sometimes I’m so afraid that you’ll do something entirely stupid and that in the end I’ll lose you, too. And I’m pleading with you, James…please…not just for my sake, for Thomas’s as well…he wouldn’t have wanted this for you. Just try to think about this, would you? Because I couldn’t stand losing you as well…”, Miranda was almost sobbing now as well and he also could barely see clear anymore through all the tears in his eyes. 

He was speechless. It was like she had looked in his mind and figured it all out. Figured out what he had planned and what he was about to do. Did she know? Was it this obvious? Would she try to stop him? Would she take him to see a therapist then? Did she think she could really help him to feel better eventually? 

“You have to promise me this, okay? Just think about what I’ve told you tonight”, Miranda said earnestly. 

“Okay”, he just nodded, still a little baffled. 

“Promise me”, she all but demanded and waited for him to look at her again. 

“Fine, I promise”, he said then, not quite sure if he’d consider it. 

“You never break your promises”, she smiled at him weakly, tears in her eyes, as if she truly knew everything that was going on inside of his mind and it made him feel quite unwell all of a sudden.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I already wanted to post this chapter yesterday but then I got a little discouraged because I had the feeling that not so many people wanted to read the last one and I was doubting my abilities a bit, but...here I'm back now and I just wanna say thanks to everyone who is reading this story and leaving me kudos or comments, you guys are an inspiration!
> 
> this next chapter might very well be the saddest thing I've written in months. I actually cried and it could be that you will be crying too, just saying^^ maybe it was because I've been listening to "Into the Black" by the Chromatics which also is a kinda sad song, idk...anyway, I hope you're still enjoying this one, because I really liked writing it, even despite it being depressing xD

Since the moment he left Miranda's place, he'd spent hours thinking about the conversation they'd had. It had busied him so much that days had come and gone without him even considering following through with his final plan. Originally, he hadn’t intended on giving her words that much thought, but he just hadn't been able to get them out of his head anymore. Their whole dialogue seemed burned into his brain, unable to get rid of it anymore once it had been spoken out aloud. 

It wasn’t all the things she'd said that were haunting him now. Mostly it was just her pleading him to promise that he'd even think about what had been said. 

_"Promise me."_

He couldn't get her voice, the look in her eyes out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried not to think of it again. Because, what if she'd been right with everything? Until before that dinner, he'd considered wanting to take his own life a well thought-through plan that only still needed to be executed. But now, there had been a little seed of doubt planted into his mind. What if Miranda's words were more than just empty phrases, more than all the waffle shrinks were uttering, what if it could come true? What if some day, eventually, it would feel better, he would feel better? 

Did Thomas being gone truly mean that he also had to die in order to be free of all his sorrows? That he could leave this hell his world had turned into behind like this? What if there was another way, one that he hadn't figured out yet? That he didn't dare to consider because his heart felt too sore, his soul seemed too empty, and his thoughts were too dark? 

He couldn't even imagine this other path yet in the slightest. There was too much blackness all around him to make it out. Had been around for months on end. Still, he'd seen something. A light he hadn't even thought that could possibly still exist. His usually grey and empty world had been filled with a ray of light, even twice, just days before. Both times when he'd been around a man he'd just randomly run into, whom he didn't know more of than his name and where he worked at. A man who, against all odds, against all reasoning and presumption, had somehow managed to brighten his dreary horizon a tiny bit, even if just for some short moments. There was no logical explanation as for why this had happened, or how exactly, all he knew was that it had felt incredibly diverse from everything else he'd got used to in the past weeks and months. 

Considering and re-considering all of this had got him to a point the day before, where he almost was about to do something brave, something that he hadn't thought he would possibly do anymore. He'd almost dialled John's number to talk to him. But in the end, he hadn’t managed to press the call button. Instead, he'd chastised himself for being so silly, for believing this could ever help. For believing this could be enough to make the ache and the emptiness vanish. Eventually, all he did, was saving the number on his phone, though he dismissed ever trying to call it at the very same time. 

This day, everything was different, though. According to what he’d originally planned, he shouldn’t even be there anymore. And when thinking about it right now, he truly wished that he’d never even listened to anything Miranda had told him and that he could have just went through with it already. Because then, he wouldn’t have to be alive anymore to witness this day. 

It was Thomas’s 35th birthday. And he could do nothing at all to lessen the pain about having to be around for this day, while Thomas wasn’t anymore, because he was too conflicted about what Miranda had said to him to just go through with it and end it forever. He couldn’t do it, but neither could he stand being alive and breathing.

He couldn’t even do anything to remember him properly. He couldn’t buy flowers and bring them to his grave, because he didn’t really know where it was. It was a long, a complicated story. But essentially, Thomas’s family, especially his father, hadn’t wanted him around for the funeral. He’d always disapproved of them being together, much like James’s older brother did. If it wasn’t for Thomas’s younger sister, he probably wouldn’t even have been noticed of his accident. He hadn’t been allowed into the hospital, hadn’t got a chance to say goodbye, since they weren’t married and Thomas’s parents, mostly his father, weren’t having any of it. 

James still remembered that day as if it had been just yesterday, not about ten months ago. And as if his current state wouldn’t already have been miserable enough, obviously, he had to recall all these horrible events as vividly as ever. 

_It was a surprisingly cold, rainy Saturday in early November. Thomas had left early in the morning to drive out to his family’s estate in Hertfordshire because it was his mother’s birthday._

_She wasn’t as hostile as his father about their relationship. Actually, she’d been around for coffee once and while she appeared as posh as possibly could be, she seemed to be a very decent and smartly humoured lady who clearly adored her son very much. And she also seemed to like James well enough for Thomas’s sake. Afterwards, he told James that his mother probably disapproved more of the fact that he was from an ordinary working-class family than of them being together, though she most certainly seemed impressed that he had already managed to become a professor at such an early age._

_Because of his father’s displeasure, James couldn’t accompany his boyfriend, what Thomas would bare only begrudgingly, but he loved his mother too dearly not to show up for her 65th birthday. So, he went by himself. Before he’d joked that by showing up alone, he could at least annoy all the stiff and old-fashioned members among his relatives, who were always wondering when he’d finally find a woman to marry._

_Except for a text message that said he’d arrived at his family’s place, James hadn’t heard anything of Thomas that day. But he figured that he was probably just being busy spending time with his relatives. He tried calling him in the evening, but just got the answerphone._

_Actually, Thomas had just wanted to stay for the day and be back at night. As he hadn’t come home by almost midnight, hadn’t called back, or even just left a message, James tried not to worry too much. Probably Thomas had decided to stay at his parent’s place for the night, maybe his battery was empty and he’d forgotten his charger._

_Sometime after midnight, he finally went to bed, alone. He couldn’t fall asleep and kept tossing and turning from side to side. Eventually, his unrest was disrupted by his mobile ringing. Blindly gripping for it, he answered almost without hesitation._

_“Thomas?”_

_“Is this James?”, a female voice that he'd heard just a couple of times before via Thomas's Skype conversations answered to him._

_It was his sister, Olivia, whom he’d never met in person, because she’d spent the last few years overseas, studying at Harvard. She was eight years younger than Thomas and had just come back to the UK to start her post-grad studies at St. Andrews in Scotland._

_“Yeah, this is he. Olivia? Where’s Thomas?”, he replied kind of confused. It was about 2:30 am, he'd barely slept and fear started creeping into his thoughts. Why was Olivia calling him in the middle of the night?_

_“I…I don’t know how to…”, she started, but had to disrupt herself and he thought he heard her crying. “Tom’s had an accident. He was on the way back to London, but didn’t make it far. He…”, she went on, her voice strained, but now he was the one disrupting her, starting to panic. An accident?_

_“What…what accident? How’s he doing? What happened?”, he wanted to know, sitting up further and switching the lights on, because he was having difficulties to breathe. What was happening here?_

_“He’s…”, Olivia broke off, sniffing. “He’s at the hospital. But…the doctors are saying…he...he won’t be waking up”, here her voice broke and for a moment, he couldn't tell if he'd understood her correctly._

_“What…what does that mean? Is he…is he in a coma?”, James went on asking, finding it harder and harder to breath with every passing second. He didn’t understand what was happening. It took Olivia a moment to reply, he heard her cry some more, then she finally said:_

_“No, James…he…he’s braindead…”, Olivia explained, her voice so strained by tears that it was barely understandable._

_What followed was a silence so loud he almost couldn’t bare it. He simultaneously felt like blacking out, breaking down, and vomiting all over the place. Luckily, he could avoid the latter, but he sank back into his pillows, placing his free hand over his eyes while his head was spinning. It also seemed like the ability to form sentences had been taken away from him, because he couldn’t even think of a single thing to say._

_"Are you still there?"_

_"How...what happened? Can I...what hospital is he at? I...I need to see him" , he finally managed to get out incoherently._

_He barely recognised his own voice anymore, didn’t understand the syllables he produced. Everything felt like clouded in cotton and like everything was happening in slow-motion. He wasn't sure he even still knew how to use his own legs and get out of bed. Or if he’d even be able to do so without just falling down._

_"I'm so sorry, James...my father, he...he won't allow you here, he made this very clear. He doesn't know I'm calling, but I thought you had a right to know", Olivia meant, still sniffling._

_"I don't bloody care about your father. Which hospital? ", he heard himself saying without even knowing what he was doing. Suddenly he was standing in the middle of the room, pulling over a jumper that he didn’t remember taking out of the closet._

_"Don't do this. You shouldn't be driving now”, she tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen to her._

_"Which hospital, Olivia?", he repeated more forcefully while scrambling into a pair of jeans and almost toppling over in doing so._

_"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry", she repeated, crying harder now and then the noise was gone._

_"Olivia?", he all but screamed into the phone. But the line was dead._

_After that he didn’t remember much, just crying and screaming until his eyes burnt, his lungs hurt and he couldn’t properly breathe anymore. Maybe he passed out at one time or the other. When he next regained consciousness, the first thing he did was looking around for Thomas, checking his mobile, until he remembered the call. Then he broke down in tears once more._

Ripping himself out of this horrible memory, he realised that his cheeks were wet with tears and his breathing was fast. It had been the worst night of his life and everything that followed after, was probably equally awful. He’d tried to get in touch with Thomas’s family for days, he’d driven out to Hertfordshire where he didn’t come across anyone, just to have Olivia finally tell him that he wouldn’t be welcome at the funeral. 

But she hadn’t want to be mean as her father, she had assured him several times that Thomas had loved him very much and had even offered to meet him in London. However, James hadn’t been able to bare it and declined. After that, he hadn’t heard back of her again and he neither had the desire, nor the motivation, to change this. 

He hadn’t managed to get out of bed yet. And he highly doubted that this would change, not unless he needed to use the loo, maybe. His eyes were burning and through the newly forming tears he stared at his mobile’s home screen. The last time he’d changed it was the day he’d taken the picture in it, the morning of the day Thomas died. It was them lying in bed together, Thomas had an arm wrapped around his chest and was smiling into the camera as James was kissing him on the cheek. 

Thinking back to this moment, his chest felt tight, his heart seemed to break for the umpteenth time and he almost let the mobile slip out of his hand, because he started shaking so much from sobbing. 

He’d never see him again, never kiss him, never touch him, never hear his voice again. God, he missed hearing his voice so much. When watching some of the old videos he had of him on his mobile didn’t feel enough anymore, sometimes he’d call their landline just to hear Thomas on the answerphone. He hadn’t done that in weeks, though, but now it seemed like the only reasonable thing he could think of. 

Just for a moment, he could pretend that Thomas wasn’t gone forever. He could act like he was just away on a trip and that he’d call him to check in on him. He could talk to him after the beep, pretending everything was alright, even if just for some moments. It was probably the silliest, most pathetic, idea he’d ever had. But right now, he felt it was the only thing he cared about doing. So, he opened the address book and scrolled down to H – “home”, because he figured it faster than typing in the whole number. Then he pressed the call button and listened to the call going through. 

The moment he noticed he’d accidentally pressed down on the wrong number - because the landline in the floor wasn’t ringing - was the moment someone picked up at the other end of the line. 

“This is John”, came a somewhat familiar voice and for a moment, James didn’t know what to do. If he should answer or just hang up. 

“...John?”, he asked then, without really thinking about it, remembering the other man and the fact that he’d put his number into the phone just the day before. Apparently, his name was the next entry right after “home”. 

“Yes, who’s this?” 

“It’s James, but I…”, he started, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t intended calling him at all but had been fully prepared to listen to Thomas’s voice on the answerphone instead. Now that it was John at the other end of the line, he was a little taken aback by it, to say the least. 

“James? Oi, how’re you doing?”, John wanted to know. 

“To be honest, I wanted to call someone else, I just pressed the wrong button…”, he decided to go with the truth, because he couldn’t think of anything else. 

On the one hand, it felt weird talking to John again now, because he hadn’t thought he’d ever do so anymore. On the other, it was oddly calming to be talking to someone who was actually there, who could answer to him, who was very much alive and breathing and listening to what he had to say. 

“Oh...so I assume you don’t got time to chat now?”, John replied and if James hadn’t been as distraught as he was, probably he’d have noticed the dejected tone of the other’s voice. 

“I uhm…yeah, I do, actually”, James admitted then, not understanding why he said that. He could just have hung up, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to do so. 

“So, how are things going?”, John asked, voice back to his usual cheerful tune. 

“Okay, I guess. What about you?”, he deflected as well as he could, trying hard to sound normal. He didn’t need John to realise that he was as far from okay as humanly possible. 

“No more losing cheques then?”, John joked and managed to make the tiniest of smiles tug at James’s lips at this memory, it was just too silly. “I’m doing alright, too”, he confirmed then. 

“Good, good”, he said for lack of a better response. 

“Would you’ve ever called me back if you didn’t dial the wrong number just now?”, John wanted to know then. 

James sighed a little. He didn’t want to tell the truth, that he hadn’t really intended to do so. Or that he hadn’t been brave enough to do so the other day. 

“I wasn’t quite sure…”, is what he replied after a while. 

“About what?”, John kept on asking and James had to supress another sigh. 

“If you meant it.” 

“I did. I don’t just give my number away to anyone, you know”, came the reply and he nodded lightly, not caring that John couldn’t see it. 

“So…”, he started after another moment of silence, still not quite sure what he should say. 

“So, would you want to grab a drink or something?”, the other offered. 

“Well...why not”, James finally said without really considering what he was even replying. 

“Cool, are you free tonight?” 

“Yeah.” What was he doing? He didn’t even feel up to leaving his bed, how was he supposed to get up and go out?

“At 7?”, John asked.

“That’s fine with me.” 

Apparently, his brain was having a blackout right this moment, because he couldn’t explain what was happening here otherwise, why he was agreeing to all of that. Why he was making these plans to go out that night when just five minutes ago, he’d been as miserable as could possibly be imagined. 

“Do you want to go anywhere in particular?”

“Doesn’t matter much to me”, he shrugged and still wondered about himself. Why was he doing that? What was he getting himself into here, why couldn’t he just shut up and end this call?

“Okay, I can text you an address later if you don’t have any better ideas?”, John offered. 

“Sounds about right to me”, he agreed, because he didn't really care. Then why did he care to go at all? 

“Good, nice”, John said, sounding like he was smiling. 

“Then see you later, I guess”, he said, ready to hang up.

“Cheers”, John confirmed and he finally disconnected the call.


End file.
